His Countess For A Week. Sarah Mallory
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Название: His Countess For A Week
Автор: Sarah Mallory
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9780008901189
isbn:
‘You think Lady Meon is responsible?’
‘No. Possibly. George was staying here with friends, you see. Before he died. From what he told me, when he was sick, I suspect, I believe something happened here.’
‘Why did you not write to the lady and ask her?’
She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘If my suspicions are correct, I doubt Lady Meon would have told me anything if I had approached her as Mrs Roffey.’
‘You decided you might have more success as a countess.’ When she did not respond he continued. ‘How long have you been masquerading as my wife?’
‘Just over two weeks.’ She added, as if in mitigation, ‘But only here in Devonshire and until this evening I had met only Lady Meon. Then she invited me to her party and I thought I might learn something.’
Loud voices came from the passage beyond the door. A burst of laughter and heavy footsteps.
She looked at him, her green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Will you tell them I am an impostor?’
‘Not here,’ he said, getting up. ‘Not tonight.’
Ran noted the slight lessening of tension in her dainty form.
‘I am most grateful, thank you.’
‘I will send for your cloak and order the carriage.’
That startled her.
‘But I cannot go now,’ she protested. ‘I have accepted Lady Meon’s invitation to stay the night!’
A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Our hostess would hardly expect me to leave without you, but if you would rather I stayed, we could continue this charade until the morning.’
He let the words hang, watching with unholy amusement as the implication of his words sank in. She blushed furiously.
‘No, of course I do not want that!’ She rose and shook out her skirts. ‘I came in my own carriage. I will go and find my maid and we shall follow you.’
‘Oh, no, I do not intend to let you slip away from me. We shall return to the salon together and find our hostess. And then, my lady, I am taking you back to Beaumount. Your maid can pack your bags and follow later.’
Arabella wanted to protest, but she knew it would be useless. He was still smiling, but there was an implacable look in his eyes. She must capitulate. For now.
‘Very well. I will go with you, Lord Westray.’
‘How formal that sounds.’ He grimaced. ‘Very well, then. Let us take leave of our hostess.’
Arabella paused for a heartbeat. It was a risk to go off with this man, she knew that, but what choice did she have? She could confess everything and throw herself on the mercy of her hostess, but instinct told her not to trust Ursula Meon.
Did she trust the Earl of Westray? She looked at him again and realised that she did. She felt her world shift slightly, as if something momentous had occurred. It was irrational, illogical, but looking into his sea-blue eyes, she felt a connection, as if he would understand her. Nonsense, of course. Her thoughts were confused. She was still shaken, not yet recovered from her faint.
He held out his arm. ‘Madam, shall we go?’
Taking a deep breath, she put her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her back to the salon.
The party had grown rowdier in their absence and they entered to a confusion of chatter and laughter. The noise died as they walked in and Arabella felt as if every eye was turned towards her. She could not help clutching more tightly at the Earl’s arm. He put his hand over her fingers and squeezed them.
‘Do not be afraid to lean on me, my dear. I have you safe now.’
Arabella knew the caressing tone was as much for the benefit of the gathered company as for her. Lady Meon had flown out of her chair and was beside them, begging the Earl to bring his lady closer to the fire, asking if she could fetch her anything.
‘You might send for my carriage, madam,’ replied the Earl. ‘I would like to take my wife home.’
Home. Wife.
The words sent a chill through Arabella, dispelling the feeling of unreality that had possessed her since meeting the Earl. Common sense told her it was better to stay here, in company, rather than to leave with a stranger. To ride in a darkened coach with him and then to enter Beaumount. His house. As his wife. That would be foolhardy in the extreme. She needed time to think.
‘Oh, but I am so much better now, my lord,’ she said brightly. ‘Indeed, I am mortified that I should be so silly as to faint off. I beg your pardon and hope you will forgive me. I should dearly like to remain here for a little longer yet, at least until after supper—’
‘Alas, my love, I do not think that would be wise,’ the Earl interrupted her smoothly. ‘Lady Meon will understand, I am sure, that I want to have you to myself tonight.’
Arabella flushed at the inference, but she was also angered by the teasing note in his voice. It made her long to hit him.
‘Of course I understand, my lord.’ Lady Meon gave Arabella’s arm a playful tap with her fan. ‘You naughty puss, to tease him so, when I am sure you are just as eager to be away.’
The ladies were all smiling and nodding—one of the gentlemen even laughed. Arabella found herself blushing again, but she was not giving up just yet.
‘Naturally, I should like to be at home,’ she said sweetly, ‘and yet I think it would be better if I remained here, quietly, for a little while. Perhaps I might take a cup of tea before I leave.’ She turned her head to look up at the Earl and gave him a false, glittering smile. ‘That would also give my lord the opportunity to become acquainted with our new neighbours.’
His eyes gleamed appreciatively, acknowledging she had outmanoeuvred him.
‘As you wish, my dear, we shall stay a little longer.’
The tea tray was summoned and the Earl guided Arabella to a chair. She sat down, fanning herself, and watched through half-closed eyes as Lady Meon and her guests vied for Lord Westray’s attention.
There was no doubting their eagerness to become acquainted with the new Earl. Over the course of the evening she had learned that in recent times the Westray family had made little use of Beaumount. Everyone was aware of the present Earl’s history, but it made no odds to them. It was more important to be on good terms with their exalted neighbour than to worry about his past.
‘Do you intend to make this a long visit to Devonshire, my lord?’ asked Lady Trewen, wife of the local squire.
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